


Birds

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: I can't disable commenting here. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.





	Birds

When the war is over, Thor thanks his brother and lets him go.

“What are you doing?” Sif whispers. “Save the realms the trouble and put him back in the cell now.”

Her words sting Thor almost as much as Loki's leaving does.

He can't win, Thor realizes.

For Loki had just saved all of Yggdrasil from Malekith's ax, and still he was found wanting.

Thor was already certain he had made the right decision – his brother was never meant for a cage.

Now he knows he won't be sorry for it.

A few months later Loki causes a minor disturbance on Midgard, but Thor doesn't come. His friends on Earth are able to the task, and Asgard needs its king in the aftermath of the battle it lost.

The realm eternal has changed.

Every rebuilt and repaired inch of architecture leaps out at Thor, however skillfully executed and elegantly conceived. The grass gapes at him where trees once stood. The rough scuff of his boots on fresh paving stones scrapes his ears.

A millennium of memory is not so easily won over; Asgard's scars remain red to Thor's eyes for years after her wounds have healed.

On sleepless nights Thor often takes long walks.

He sees the deer that have sneaked into farmers' fields. The rabbits in gardens. Bats hovering overhead. It occurs to him that he has missed a third of his life sleeping, and missed half the realm.

It's so different in the dark. Damp from dew and chilly against his skin. The horizon line drawn by tree tops and mountain ranges is the dominant feature, black against the star flecked indigo of the sky.

The killdeer cry at the sound of his steps. Owls flap softly through the air. Possums waddle away at the corners of his eyes.

In the end, his feet always carry him to Frigga's gardens.

One was once a maze, with walls of irises and lilies. But the flowers were forever straying beyond the bounds of their beds, and finally there was no path through that garden; it was a world that belonged to itself, and Frigga left it that way. She said it was foolish to fight nature. That you'd always lose.

Thor's love for his brother followed the example set out by those blooms. Jumped its walls and abandoned the prescribed path long ago. Spread from fraternal and platonic to possessive and erotic before devouring romantic, agape, and everything in between.

Thor hadn't known Loki felt the same way until his banishment. Until he'd broken his brother's heart. Until Loki wished him dead and wept on the Bifrost, his jealousy of Thor's fondness for Jane shocking Thor after centuries of a secret so well kept. Thor had shed countless tears on long nights alone, aching for his brother. It had never once occurred to him that Loki could have been doing the same.

They'd driven each other mad. And for nothing.

And then it was too late.

And the Norns were too cruel.

He watched Loki fall into a churning sea of stars.

He mourned the brother he had and the brother he hadn't known existed.

But then it seemed the fates had been kind, scooping Loki out of the abyss and setting him in Thor's hands. And after Thor had thrashed him, still furious at Loki for letting go and then hiding away, Thor had nearly kissed him.

But Loki was stubborn. Or too far gone. Or too tired. Tired of being the one in the wrong without knowing it, thinking finally his intentions were his own. Tired of listening to liars who thought they spoke truth. Tired of listening. Tired of waiting. Tired of caring. Tired.

And now he's worlds away. Wild and silent.

But he's alive.

And Thor will never cease to be grateful for that.

It isn't all, but it's enough.

Much.

All that matters.

Thor hasn't cut his hair since before the war. He wears it up in braids reminiscent of those his mother wore, for she is the reason his locks are so long: the last twelve inches of each strand have had her fingers on them.

He had to part with so much of her - duty-bound to place it on her pyre – he can't yet bear to lose this, too.

But her foresight was unflinching, and she put it to good use, placing those objects most precious to her boys in a sturdy box of gold, left at the foot of Thor's bed.

He didn't find it until he came back from the last battle, and by then his brother had already gone.

Some of its contents are unmistakably meant for Thor or Loki only, but others Thor can't be sure.

There's a necklace that's for Thor. He could never keep his hands off of it. If he was in his mother's lap and she was wearing it, then he was touching it. It's not the same without her collarbones behind it - Thor's fingers would trace those, too - and it lacks the warmth of her skin, but the back of it has been worn smooth, the gold swept away as it swayed at her throat for centuries.

There's the blanket she wrapped Thor in after he was born and held him in for years after, still smelling of their skin all these centuries later.

And there are delicate silk slippers embroidered with gold, the imprints of her toes pressed permanently into the insoles. When she would come to his room to read and play with him when he was a child, he would take her shoes away and hide them. He wouldn't return them until he had drunk his fill of her attention.

But then there are books. Nursery rhymes, poetry, adventures, and healing spells. Both of the brothers love these words.

A lock of her hair. Only one. And Thor wonders at this.

Her perfume, like a ghost captured in crystal, bringing her to life in Thor's mind in a way that leaves his eyes wet every time he opens it.

And there's a dressing gown. Sky-blue silk embroidered with birds of every size, shape, and color. They would both lose themselves in it as they sat on her lap, or when they dragged her back into her bed to snuggle them first thing in the morning.

There's Loki's baby blanket. Thor has no memory of Loki as a baby. And, though Loki was more slender, they were always the same height as children. Thor had meant to ask Odin if they're also the same age, but he missed his chance. He supposes he could ask Heimdall, but forcing his father to confess his deception had been at least half the point, if not more.

There's a small case of glass vials with contents Thor can only guess at. He hasn't opened them – he knows they're not his.

And Frigga's flute. Loki took to it as easily as breathing. Loki's lessons filled Thor with a strange ache – a melancholy kind of envy - but Thor couldn't keep away. He would watch as his mother and brother passed the pretty thing back and forth between them, practicing, and it was as though they were trading kisses that had voices, and the music issuing from the instrument was merely their song. A lullaby of love and breath and lips.

Thor wonders if Loki will ever return for these treasures.

Thor watches his brother from Hlidskjalf when he can spare the time.

Loki is still furious with Svartalfheim. Thor can't blame him.

Loki fills their seas with serpents and their mountains with dragons.

Thor will clean up after him when it becomes necessary.

Years pass swiftly to those who live centuries.

Three have come and gone.

Thor finally cuts his hair, putting it in a plait, shearing it off above his shoulders with a sharp knife, and tossing it onto a table in his room.

A week later he swims in a spring-fed lake after sparring and sees a slim figure standing at the far side of the water. When he waves, the man dissolves in the breeze and blows away.

When Thor returns to his room after supper, his blond braid is missing, but there's a black one in its place, glossy, and with ends faintly curled. Thor hefts it in his hands. It's heavy. And it looks healthy, which he finds reassuring. He holds it up to his lips and then breathes it in. Sandalwood and shortbread, same as ever. Thor smiles.

Loki's anger has settled to something like a simmer. He's on one of Alfheim's wildest moons, working strange seidr, warping nature into new and dangerous shapes as Thor looks on from the throne. But sometimes Thor catches his brother mending the broken wings of birds, or the ripped ears of rabbits, and it sends him back a thousand years and they're both boys again.

On a crisp autumn morning, with the war six years gone, Thor wakes to a dream.

There's music in his room.

Flute.

His brother is sitting on the floor, long legs stretched out in a V, with Frigga's golden box of gifts lying open between them. Thor watches, motionless, and says nothing, afraid he'll frighten this rare bird away.

Loki plays for three hours and then his head snaps up, hearing footsteps approaching from the far end of Thor's hall.

“Keep them safe for me,” Loki says, packing his gifts back into the box and sliding it under the bed.

Thor nods, and Loki melts away into mist.

Thor thanks the young page who has brought his breakfast and tells him he needn't bother with this particular chore again – he can sit at the end of the hall, reading or drawing, until or unless Thor calls for him. The page grins and thanks him with a bow. Thor musses the lad's hair and asks if he needs books or parchment or pencils.

Thor skips breakfast and gets back in bed. It's Thursday, which is Asgard's version of the weekend these days, so he won't be missing anything. Usually Thor goes riding, but the scent of his brother is still lingering in the room, and he doesn't want it to go to waste, not knowing if or when he'll have it again.

When he was young he would linger in bed until threats of a visit from his father reached his ears. Loki would bring the news, having been up for hours already, though it went against his nature – Loki liked to sleep in as much as Thor did, but he disliked being chided, so he rose with the sun.

Part of the pleasure of remaining in bed was the promise of Loki coming to pull him out of it. Thor would overpower him and pull him in, burying Loki in pillows and blankets and binding him in his arms. Some days it would turn into a wrestling match, others a pillow-fight. Every now and then they'd both fall asleep. Frigga would come running into the room, drag them both out of bed, dress Thor using seidr, and send them to their father before his temper was too far gone. But the best days were the ones when Odin was busy. Loki would wake at dawn and come to Thor's room.

“We have the whole day to ourselves,” Loki would say. “Don't sleep through it.”

And Thor would nod his drowsy head and blink his puffy eyes and draw back the blankets.

“Just for a minute,” Loki would say, as he slid in beside his brother and Thor tucked the quilt around him.

Sometimes they'd fall asleep instantly and wake hours later, scrambling to make it to the kitchens before breakfast was over.

Sometimes they'd whisper about what they wanted to do with their day, dozing lightly and rising at a reasonable hour to begin whatever trouble they'd agreed upon.

Sometimes Thor would be brave, and he'd curl himself around his brother, a hand over Loki's heart and his nose at Loki's nape, and they'd sleep like babies.

But sometimes Loki would be brave, too, and he'd turn around. And they'd wrap their reedy arms around each other, press their round little boy bellies together, put their legs in a tangle, and let the murmur of their mingled breaths lull them to sleep. And this was what Thor lived for. Thoughts of sex were still centuries away – it was a word, not a reality. This was the mirror of what they shared with their mother. Warmth, safety, peace, and worship. A realm of linen, goose down, and the soothing scent of familiar skin.

On those days they didn't get out of bed until their bladders threatened to mutiny.

When their bodies began to change, their mother gently explained sex to them.

It still seemed strange - impossibly so.

Their forms had not fully rounded that corner and they couldn't imagine how their minds ever would. Frigga saw their wrinkled noses and laughed.

“You'll understand when you're older, but be in no hurry to get there. You'll only be boys once.”

Still, Thor knew he loved Loki more than other boys loved their brothers. He was secretly proud of himself for it, and proud that his brother was Loki. Pale and sharp and dark and lovely. No other Aesir could compare.

At that age, he still just wanted to keep Loki close. To have his brother held to his side as they slept, so that his body would know Loki was safe while his mind was lost to dreams. To give him affection – tiny smacking kisses, hugs and squeezes, presses of Loki's hand in his, to rub his back or shoulders.

When sex did occur to Thor, it came first as something self-contained. The body he'd lived in all his life was suddenly new. Gifts were hidden in plain sight. Like most little boys, he'd always taken a bit of pride in his penis, but he disliked how it was always dragging him out of bed in the morning with its insistence on pissing. For once he found himself happily following it into bed each night, touching it with cautious and curious fingers, coaxing pleasure from the swelling skin. When he grew comfortable there, he let his caresses begin further from their target with each approach, finding that his bliss was heightened if his stroked his belly and the insides of his thighs before settling his hands over his balls and his prick. His nipples became something other than a thermometer. The soft skin on his inner arms and all around his neck seemed to tremble under his attentions. Tracing the apple of his throat made him twitch. His scalp wanted fingers dragging over it. His lips read every whorl of his fingerprints.

He was in the bath when the epiphany he'd had with his penis was finally afforded to his anus.

His mother had told him about all of this already, but he'd been skeptical, to say the least.

But if she was right about the other funny little excretory organ between his legs, he suspected she was right about this one too.

And of course she was.

It tickled and twitched, but it was pleasant indeed. And he found the same pattern held true – if his hands began their tracing and massaging on the plump cheeks of his backside and slowly worked their way toward his hole, their efforts paid out tenfold.

When he grew familiar enough with his new form to have coherent thoughts as he touched it, his mind turned to his brother. Wondering if he was on the other side of the wall, mirroring Thor. Wondering if Loki's body looked different. Smelled different. Tasted different. How it would fit to his own. How their hips would mesh. What sounds he made when he was alone and if they'd change when they were together. If he was as desperate as Thor was to feel the smooth skin of lips and a tongue on his cock - Thor liked to suck, lick, and kiss his thumb as he stroked himself, imagining he was enjoying those sensations much lower.

Thor's feelings lingered like this for centuries. Lusty and boyish. Fond and affectionate.

And then Loki fell, and Thor's heart dove with him.

Depth that terrified him yawned in Thor's mind.

It had never occurred to him that Loki could die.

That he could outlive his little brother. That he would be without him for millennia. That Loki had been hurting so deeply for so long. That Loki had loved him. That they'd spoken a lie of silence to each other for centuries.

He missed his brother's cleverness. His keen eye for trouble. His graceful violence. His unbridled love for their mother. His solitary tendencies. His genius with seidr. His beauty - pale and hard as marble.

Thor wanted to trade places.

Wished he'd kicked free of his father's hand and followed his brother.

Wished he'd had the sense to try to fly down with Mjolnir, catch his brother, and bring him back.

Even now, something new to regret about those days occurs to Thor at least once a week.

Thor wakes one morning and rolls over to find the blankets warm beside him, as though a body had been there moments ago. He catches the scent of sandalwood and thinks perhaps the music in his dream wasn't put there by his mind.

Thor finds, to his amazement, that he likes Loki's dragons, and he worries the Dokkalfar will destroy them.

Over the course of a week he sneaks into Svartalfheim and spirits them away to Nivlheim, knocking them out with a tap from Mjolnir and dragging them through the Bifrost.

He visits them there often. And whenever Loki finds – or makes - a particularly vicious species and drops it on another realm's doorstep, Thor delivers it to the dragons, who give it a good grilling and then gobble it up.

The serpents on Svartalfheim grow large and vicious. Thor beheads them and feeds them to the dragons.

The last of the snakes succeeds in biting Thor just before he crushes its skull. His vision blurs and he vomits almost instantly.

He flies home to Asgard to seek healers, but they have nothing for him.

The flesh around the wounds swells and weeps. Thor sweats through the sheets with fever. He drifts in and out of consciousness. Hallucinates and calls to his mother.

After nine days, he's finally lucid. He sends for his friends and elders while his mind is still his own.

The bite has begun to fester. Necrosis is slowly spreading, seeping like a stain, turning firm peachy pinks to limp ashen purples. It's like seeing fruit spoil. Thor watches with morbid fascination.

He can smell his own death as it marches up his thigh. When the rot reaches his hip, the thought hits him, and he hates himself: I should have cut off the leg. Now the infection has spread too far.

Thor lets himself sleep. No sense crying over spilt milk.

Thor's friends set out to see to his last wishes.

They travel together, hoping for safety in numbers.

Heimdall volunteers to go with them.

“You are to take the throne, trickster,” Heimdall tells Loki, in his cave on Alfheim's moon.

“And why would I do that?” Loki laughs.

“Because the king is dying, and has no heir.”

Loki's face falls.

“How? By whose hand?” he whispers.

“Yours,” Heimdall answers.

“What?”

“One of your serpents.”

“Take me to him. Now.”

When Loki arrives at Thor's side, he stills, thinking himself too late.

Thor is grey and waxen.

“Brother?” Loki whispers, bending his head to Thor's chest to listen for his heart.

Thor's eyes open and slowly focus and his colorless lips curve into a smile.

Loki drops to his knees and reaches under the bed, grabbing the gold box from Frigga, pulling out the case of vials, casting a spell to duplicate one of them, and telling his brother to drink the contents.

Loki helps Thor to hold his head up and tips the tiny bottle into his mouth, pouring cool liquid onto his tongue.

He strips off Thor's sheet and watches the wound.

The poison seeps back out through the punctures and Loki collects it in a tiny jar.

“What are you going to do with that?” Thor asks.

“Take it to the healers. You can't make antivenom without venom,” Loki explains.

Thor nods and passes out.

Loki remains, tending to the ruined flesh that runs from the base of Thor's right thigh to the crest of his hip.

When Thor wakes, Loki is sitting at the edge of the bed with a bloody lip.

“Who dared strike you?” Thor asks, sitting up and going red.

“Idunn.”

Thor relaxes and settles back into his pillows.

“She looks like a lass of seventeen and hits like Heimdall,” Loki gripes, and sets a basket of apples on the bed. “You're eating these.”

Thor grimaces. He prefers pears, but Idunn doesn't grow any of those. He supposes it's for the best: if he were obliged to eat them as often as he is the apples, he might tire of them, and that would be tragic.

“I'm eating half of them, and so are you,” Thor answers.

“I'll eat a third.”

“Very well.”

They sit crunching the fruit for twenty minutes.

Loki brings out a tray covered with tiny drams of medicine.

Thor groans.

But he's pleasantly surprised.

They all taste lovely at best, or bland at worst.

And, after that, Loki brings breakfast and helps Thor eat it. It cheers Thor to see his brother eating. To see the pink tip of his tongue poke out to pull a crumb from his lip just as Thor is about to say you've got a little something.

When the plates have been cleared, Loki rubs a fragrant salve all over Thor's injured skin and tells him not to touch the punctures or use his right leg and to eat and sleep until he feels like himself again.

Thor nods and takes another nap.

Sometimes Thor sees Loki sitting in the chair in the corner, reading the books their mother left for them.

Sometimes he doesn't see Loki for days, and he wishes he was well enough to make it to the throne so he could look for him.

Sometimes he wakes to find Loki bent over his leg, brow furrowed, biting his lower lip in concentration, murmuring spells and daubing unguents.

It's a month before Thor feels well again, and another six weeks before his right leg is as strong as it was before the bite.

Loki was away for the last two of those weeks, but Thor could watch him from Hlidskjalf, so it wasn't as frustrating as he usually finds Loki's absences.

This morning, Loki is making Thor complete a series of stretches and exercises, but they're really tests. Loki is watching closely to see if Thor's leg falters or he winces at all.

But Thor is well.

Back to normal.

“Why were you on Svartalfheim?” Loki asks.

“Fighting the serpents.”

“I gathered. But why?”

“They're dangerous.”

“Yes, that was the point,” Loki says.

“I was feeding them to the dragons.”

“The dragons are meant to eat elves.”

“They can't anymore,” Thor tells him.

“And why is that?”

“They're on Nivlheim.”

Loki presses his fingertips to his eyelids and grimaces.

“And how did they get there?”

“I took them.”

“How?”

“I knocked them out and brought them through the Bifrost.”

Loki's anger is briefly diluted by his amusement as he pictures it.

“You carried them,” Loki murmurs, and Thor nods. “You've undone all my work.”

“I did not wish to see your dragons slaughtered. And it was only a matter of time before...”

“Before what?”

“Before the Dokkalfar came after you,” Thor answers.

“Let them come.”

“They are still strong.”

“I'm a god.”

“I've watched gods die,” Thor roars. “You're here because I was dying. I'll not lose you, too.”

“Oh, of course,” Loki hisses. “Norns forbid Thor should be the one left behind. You can be as reckless as you like and I'm meant to congratulate you on your selfless death-”

“You dealt me that death, and then you made me watch you kill yourself.”

“I couldn't love you if you were dead,” Loki snarls, and Thor grabs him by the collar.

“You're a fool," Thor growls. "My love for you lost nothing when you fell.”

At this, Loki stills and goes pale.

Then he vanishes and Thor swears.

The next morning Thor finds a pear on his windowsill.

Loki's apology.

When he bites it, he smiles. Sweet, but still firm enough to hold its shape. Grainy, syrupy, and perfect, dripping down his chin.

When Thor comes back from his bath that evening, his brother is in the chair in the corner with his flute.

Thor climbs into bed and listens until Loki stops an hour later.

“What was in the vial?” Thor murmurs.

The first drink of medicine Loki gave him for the serpent's bite had been clear, colorless, and slightly salty - and right under his nose all through his illness.

Loki frowns slightly.

“Sea water?” Thor guesses.

“No.”

“What, then?”

“The tears of a mother at the death of her son.”

“Our mother?” Thor whispers.

“Aye.”

“Shed when you fell,” Thor says.

“And when I killed you.”

Thor nods and Loki puts away the flute.

“You're getting your color back,” Loki notes, standing at the bedside with his hands in his pockets.

“I've been riding,” Thor says. “It makes me use my thighs and I get to sit in the sun.”

“You should swim, too. Use the muscles without putting any weight on them.”

Thor nods and then shuffles to the far side of the bed, pulling back the blankets in invitation.

Loki looks around the room for a moment and Thor sees him casting a few spells, fingers flexing and lips muttering. He drapes his clothes over the foot of the bed and slides in.

Thor turns onto his left slide and Loki curls up close behind him. He rubs Thor's hip. It isn't sore anymore. Thor feels fine. So Loki is reassuring himself - finding the bone whole and hard beneath his hand, the flesh firm and smooth.

Thor can feel the cool tip of Loki's nose on the nape of his neck and then Loki's long fingers flow up and splay over his heart, pushing his back into Loki's front.

And then the brothers rest, because it was a struggle to get here. They are so long out of practice. These muscles have atrophied, and they were stronger as boys than they are now as men.

They sleep for an hour.

Thor wakes first and turns around. His motions rouse his brother.

Loki opens his eyes to find Thor's face an inch before his own in the dark.

They stack their legs and wrap their arms around each other. Their ribs press together where once their stomachs rubbed pleasantly, broader than their chests in those days.

Their bodies are so much harder now, and they're both keenly aware of what they've lost. That their forms sacrificed softness for strength. Their minds, too, and there it suddenly feels like weakness.

They kiss each other's cheeks and sleep until the birds begin to sing in the blue dark just before dawn.

Thor pulls Loki in tighter, pressing their foreheads together.

Loki's palms are pressed against Thor's breast. He can feel Thor's heart as it quickens.

Any time either of them has pictured this moment at any point in the last decade, it has been as a battle. As two wolves, starving and wild, tearing at each other - all blood and teeth and violence.

And it wasn't even what either of them wanted – they had starved and bled enough – they simply couldn't imagine what else was left to them.

But the bed is soft and the blankets are warm, and it reminds them of the things they've forgotten to be.

Loki tips his head and presses a kiss to Thor's lips. And another. And Thor leans in to kiss the corners of Loki's mouth and then lick across the seam of his smile.

They nip and tug at soft damp flesh, testing teeth with curious tongues, tasting skin and breath that's sour with sleep, cheeks and jaws salty with sweat, necks rich and musky with oil. And their cocks are hard and hot between them, dripping guilelessly onto each other's hips and telegraphing every pleasure they discover. When Loki sucks on the apple of Thor's throat, Thor's cock almost kicks him. When he pulls Thor's tongue into his mouth, Thor's hips curl forward and a breathy whine slips from his lips. And suddenly there are a thousand ways Loki wants to make Thor come, and he can't fathom how he's meant to narrow it down to one. It seems unfair.

Thor's belly is slippery with how much Loki is leaking. He drops his head and sucks Loki's right nipple into his mouth, rolling the peak between his teeth, and Loki groans and his cock presses into Thor's stomach.

And Thor wants to see Loki's cock, hard and red and wet. Wants to know if it's as long and smooth as it feels against his skin.

Thor starts inching down the bed, licking, kissing, nipping and sucking on his brother's body as he goes, and Loki rolls onto his back to welcome it. Thor straddles him and picks up where he left off, at Loki's navel, and the tender little divot tugs at something in Thor; after everything, he still pictures Loki's umbilical cord connecting his brother to Frigga. Thor nuzzles the spot as Loki's cock brushes his chin, and Loki's hips arch, demanding, but Thor turns his head to the side to mouth the hollow above Loki's hip. Loki jerks and squeaks and Thor pretends he didn't notice for a few seconds, innocently continuing his kisses before doubling back and attacking the spot with teeth and the bristles of his beard, and Loki bends almost in half and bites back laughter while Thor watches the muscles in his abdomen flex and jump.

Thor follows the line that cuts the belly from the thigh and buries his nose in his brother's dark fur, letting his lips drag over his balls before running his tongue from the base of Loki's cock to the slit at the tip, picking up the bead of fluid at the top and bursting it against the roof of his mouth, tasting salt and wheat.

And Loki's cock is long and smooth and the crown is the same color as the center of his lips - that berry pink that always draws Thor's eyes like fire.

Thor flattens his tongue and laves the silky skin, dragging it all the way up and over the head until it's soaking wet before pulling the foreskin back with his fingers and taking the glossy head into his mouth.

Loki's hips lift again at this, and when Thor looks up Loki is watching, neck craned to let him see, so Thor hollows his cheeks and bobs his head slowly, lips tight against taut skin, blue eyes locked on his brother's green. He watches Loki's lashes flutter and feels the hips beneath him lift and hears a long exhale as his mouth fills with semen. Thor moans and drinks it all down greedily as Loki's head hits the pillows, then licks up a stray drop of come and lays his head in Loki's lap, watching his body change, like the tide going out as the moon falls away.

A few minutes later Thor feels movement and Loki's belly rises before his eyes as his brother sits up and stares down at him.

Loki tosses his head and Thor climbs off and crawls back toward the pillows.

They kiss, Thor's cock still heavy between them. Loki grabs a generous handful of Thor's backside and Thor hums against his lips. He sucks on Thor's tongue for as long as he can stand it and then shoves his brother onto his back and sits astride him, hands kneading and squeezing the muscles in Thor's arms and breast. They're almost obscene. Loki has always wondered what it does to Thor's center of gravity to be so top-heavy. He bends to lick and kiss Thor's nipples, which are small, pert, pink, and rather precious. Loki loves them the way he loves butterflies and blossoms.

Thor's abdomen is just slightly tense. Excitement, not unease. His breath is coming a little fast. Loki rubs his face back and forth over Thor's belly, testing the softness of the skin with his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his lashes.

And then he tucks his chin to his chest and greets Thor's cock with a kiss. And Thor can't see it, because Loki is a tease, keeping it hidden behind his head.

The kiss is wet for both of them. Loki presses his lips forward with a juicy pucker and the slick skin at the very center slides against Thor's slit, catching the precome and taking it in as Loki pulls away again.

Loki leans back and rolls his head slowly from side to side, tickling Thor with his curls and hearing the breath leave Thor's lungs a little faster than before.

And then Loki looks up.

He had always thought he'd find pride, arrogance, and insistence staring out at him from his brother's face if they ever made it here.

But he doesn't.

For, though Thor's body is a marvel to most, to Thor it is rather mundane. His arms are big because his hammer is heavy. He's tall because he's Aesir. He's gorgeous because his mother was a goddess. To Thor there is nothing unexpected about his form. It eats and sleeps and sweats and bleeds like that of every other beast in these realms.

Instead, Loki sees the expectation of rejection written lightly on his brother's features. The barely-bitten lower lip. The faint tremor in the fingers. The unblinking eyes, afraid to miss what they think won't last. Worried it's a trick.

Loki lifts Thor's thighs, spreads them wide, and settles in between them, resting on his knees while he leans to lap at Thor's cock, letting his hands squeeze the warm cheeks of Thor's rump.

And then Loki closes his eyes so that Thor can see that he isn't looking for a way out, and Thor's body relaxes around him and his breathing deepens and slows. Loki hums his approval around his brother's prick, sending sound waves buzzing through tender flesh and making Thor's breath whistle through his nose.

Loki sucks him off in long slow strokes and listens for the shift in Thor's breathing, feels for the tightening in his balls, and waits for the lifting of his hips, and when he has them all he hums again and his mouth fills with come.

It tastes like baked pumpkin seeds.

Loki's lips quirk at this and Thor catches it.

“What did I do?” Thor asks, patting the pillow next to him.

“Nothing,” Loki says, stretching out beside his brother and pulling the blankets up over them. “You taste lovely.”

Thor rolls to wrap his arms around Loki's shoulders and they sleep until well after sunrise.

When Loki wakes, Thor is stroking the handful of hairs that are scattered across his pale chest with the tip of his index finger.

“Twenty-seven,” Thor says, and Loki stares at him until he clarifies. “Hairs on your chest.”

“Don't you have a realm to rule?” Loki grumbles, and Thor snorts, and then groans, because yes, he does.

Thor sends his page to fetch a huge breakfast and they eat it in bed, taking the cloth from Thor's table and spreading it between them on the sheets. Smoked meats, sweet breads, and pears. And they don't want to get up again.

Thor clears away their mess while Loki sinks back into the pillows.

Loki watches his brother dress and bids a silent farewell to the pretty curves of Thor's behind.

And then Thor tucks Loki into the bed and kisses him.

And Thor doesn't say stay, but Loki hears it anyway.

He's not going anywhere. He needs a good fuck as badly as he needs a hot bath, and he intends to have both when Thor gets back.

Thor returns with dinner on an enormous silver platter with a beautifully chased lid.

It smells delicious, but Loki doesn't want a full belly. He slides out of bed and saunters over to cast a spell on it so it stays warm.

Thor notices every bottle of oil from the bathroom has been relocated to his bedside table and he laughs.

“Been busy?” Thor teases.

“Which one are you using these days?”

Thor shakes his head and goes to a closet, pulling out a jar.

The stuff in it is so thick it barely moves.

Loki practically purrs, taking it from Thor's hands and carrying it to the bed. Thor stares at Loki's backside as it bounces with Loki's steps. He wants to leave the indentations of his teeth in the smooth flesh. Two rings of red, one centered on each cheek, like he's drawn eyeballs on Loki's ass.

Thor is grateful Loki can't see the idiotic grin on his face and swiftly schools his features back into place before his brother turns around.

When Loki does spin, Thor is right there and naked, and Loki's eyes go wide and Thor kisses him, quick and smiling, then throws himself onto the bed and spreads his legs in the air in a V so wide it's nearly a straight line.

Loki's nostrils twitch and he sucks in a breath.

“For such a large man, you are remarkably limber,” Loki murmurs, and Thor grins.

Loki works the thick salve into Thor's skin and circles the flesh with his fingertips until it stops twitching and fluttering. Then he slides a finger in and sees Thor's cock jump. He pushes oil inside Thor's ass until he's satisfied and then slicks up his own skin.

Loki lines himself up and drives in with one smooth thrust and Thor groans and wraps his legs around his brother's thin waist.

Loki brought himself off by hand three times while Thor was away throughout the morning and afternoon; he wanted his cock to be good and stubborn for this. And it is. Thor sprays semen onto their breasts when Loki is only halfway done with him. And Thor writhes and clenches around him and it's delicious. And Loki grits his teeth and gloats and keeps gliding into the tight heat of Thor's hole while Thor whimpers and groans and growls beneath him.

Loki comes, sweating, cursing, and perfect, and collapses onto the sticky skin of his brother's broad chest.

They lie there panting until they can form words once more.

“We smell like a brothel,” Loki sighs, and they drag themselves into the bath and then back out for supper.

Thor wakes in the middle of the night to find Loki's ass grinding against his crotch. They're nested like spoons, Thor's nose in Loki's curls and palm on his belly.

Thor lowers his hand to give Loki's cock a squeeze and hears his brother hum.

He roots around under the pillows until he finds the jar of slick, coats both their cocks, works a dollop of the salve into Loki's opening with the tip of his prick, and then pushes in with a slow swirling motion, pulling Loki closer with an arm around his waist.

He bites the back of Loki's neck and fucks him with long swings of his hips and Loki puts Thor's hand on his prick again.

When Loki gets tighter around him and starts panting, Thor pulls him close and rolls them so that Loki is belly-up on top of him. And now Thor can cup and scratch Loki's balls with his left hand while his right hand jerks him off. Loki's arms are up over his head and his fingers are in Thor's hair. Thor's hips work harder and faster until Loki shouts and comes onto his chest and Thor drags his hand from Loki's belly to his throat, fingers smearing semen as his own cock fills his brother's ass with seed.

They peel apart and pass out.

It's months before they're able to care about anything else, but they slowly settle. Become themselves again. Or at last.

And Loki is often absent. And causing trouble. And working seidr. And breeding beasts that no realm's eyes have ever seen.

And Thor feeds the nightmares to the dragons and hides the marvels on foreign moons.

The brothers still shout and snipe at each other in public. And sometimes it's genuine, but most often it's for show. Loki is an excellent actor, and everyone expects them to be fighting, so the ruse is easy.

Thor takes up falconry.

No one gives a second thought to the kestrel that roosts in the king's tower.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting here. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.


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